Taming of the Shoe

by Rebekah Dodson

  “Miss Berm? You all right?” Ms. Henrys eyed me. I shrunk down in my seat and avoided her, and she left me alone. I couldn’t help but smile when she turned around, though. It was too much of a coincidence that my phone had gone off at the same time I saw Ethan reach for his. I knew he was texting me, and that made me feel ... strange somehow. Giddy? Was that the word I was looking for? I wasn’t a giddy girl. But Ethan made me feel that way. There wasn’t any point in hiding it.

  Finally free after the first bell, I immediately checked my phone once I was in the hallway, and the first message that popped up was from Ethan, and the second was from my mother. I’d check the latter later.

  I can see you.

  Liar, I texted him back, followed by, How?

  I know where Ms. Henrys’ class is, silly.

  I smiled at that.

  How goes the Cyrano discussion?

  Boring, I responded. I studied it already last year.

  Me too. What are you doing after school today? Do you have dance?

  I hesitated. Did I want to tell him I was stopping by theater club today? I stared at his message when I realized I was going to be late to class. I already lied enough today, so I figured I had to make up for it with a truth. Only on Mondays and Fridays this week, but next week is dress rehearsal for our show. I paused before I sent it. Tell the truth. Yeah, easier said than done. I thought I’d stop by theater club this afternoon.

  His response was immediate. Yeah?

  Yeah. Is that okay?

  Are you going to try out for a part?

  My hands shook a little reading that as I headed to my math class. Try out? Like ... audition? I’d never been in a play before, though I’d seen a few performed at my old school, all in German of course. All morning I’d thought about theater, like helping move props and stuff around, maybe do ... whatever else they did. But a part? Saying lines in front of everyone? Dancing was easy, but acting?

  No, I couldn’t do that. How would I even try out?

  Should I?

  If I told him no, would he even want me in theater club?

  I was running out of time to text him back, so I sent him one last text. Maybe. I don’t know.

  He didn’t respond, but I figured we were both in class, and I’d see him in choir.

  The next two hours dragged on through lunch, where Callie and I sat with her friends like we usually did. Her friend Emily had a new boyfriend. She wouldn’t stop making us look at pictures of him. I didn’t think he was good looking at all, but I smiled and played along. Callie gushed over him and their discussion got a little explicit, so I stood and mumbled I had to get to choir.

  Just as I was heading to dump my tray of something that was probably once spaghetti, I didn’t see the foot that stuck out at the end table. I had seen the same girls from the bathroom yesterday sit there, but my brain forgot to remind me to take the long way around like I always did.

  I tripped over my long skirt and landed on my knees hard, the spaghetti flying in every direction, including all over the front of my black blouse. Even worse, the chocolate milk on my tray dumped toward me, running down my front and onto my skirt.

  “Good one, Angelica,” snorted a girl at the table.

  I was mortified. I was covered in spaghetti and chocolate milk, and today I didn’t have any spare clothes with me since it wasn’t dance day. An eruption of laughter exploded across the cafeteria from every direction as I fumbled to pick up my mess.

  “Maybe you should wear pants like the rest of us, church girl,” the one called Angelica laughed at me. I glanced up briefly to see two boys sitting across from them, looking at everything but me.

  I fought back tears and my chest heaved as I picked up the tray and my backpack and stumbled to the garbage by the door.

  “Taylor!” I heard Callie call behind me. I ignored her and pushed through the doors.

  Free from the cafeteria, I burst into tears and nearly ran down the empty hall, pushed through the doors at the end, and let myself in the next building where the small choir room was located. I eyed the bathroom two doors down, but since I knew yesterday they’d find me in there, I didn’t dare risk it. I slammed open the door to the choir room.

  “Hey.”

  Ethan sat on one of the risers, a bag of chips in his lab and a piece of cheese in one hand. Today he was dressed differently today, wearing a leather jacket over a black sweater with a lighter blue collar and black jeans.

  “You finished lunch early...” He looked up at me and trailed off. His face filled with – what was that? I couldn’t see him through my tears.

  I was in the room, alone, with Ethan. Despite the fact I was a wreck covered in remnants of lunch, and my knees felt like they were on fire, every piece of Emily’s lunch conversation flooded into my brain. What did the Scripture say about being alone with boys? That they were vile monsters who would take advantage of women?

  No. I refused to believe Ethan was like that. Maybe the scriptures were wrong; they were written a very long time ago. Maybe men were better than that. Maybe ...

  I dropped my backpack by the door and crossed the room, knelt my head down, and kissed him. It was a very light kiss, and shocked at my impulse, I pulled away quickly. His lips were softer than I thought.

  I stepped back, surprised at my sudden ambition. I cover my mouth with one hand. What had I done?

  Ethan blinked at me.

  “Say something!” I blurted.

  “I—where in the world did that come from? And what happened to you?” He sat his lunch aside and stood.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” I protested. I had no idea how to answer him. What was wrong with me?

  “Taylor, there’s stains on your...” He motioned down.

  “Probably just chocolate milk from when I tripped...”

  “It looks like blood.” He frowned, then held up his hand. “Stay right here, I know Jackson has a first aid kit on the stage – in case one of our actors fall.”

  He disappeared up the small set of stairs near the stage and moved the thick, gray curtain out of the way. I heard him rustle about. I looked down my skirt to see two small red stains on the black and white fabric.

  So much for today being a better day.

  Ethan reappeared with a small red case marked with a white cross on the lid. He sat it on the riser, popped it open, and grabbed a couple of Band-Aids.

  “Let me see how bad it is.” He motioned to my skirt.

  I grabbed the sides of my skirt and froze. I had to lift it, but that was so improper. But then again, he’d seen my legs yesterday. What was the difference? I hoisted the hem up above my knees.

  “Ouch.” He got down on one knee, pulled the band-aid wrapper off with one hand, and applied it with the other. “It’s not too bad, honestly, but when you get home some antibiotic is probably in order. I can’t imagine the germs on the cafeteria floor, especially that one.” He stood and dusted off his hands. “There, all better, right?”

  He was trying to cheer me up, I knew, instead I choked on my sobs and my lip trembled. I looked down at my ruined shirt. I was screwing everything up today.

  He must have seen my look, because he backed up, shrugged out of his jacket, and pulled his sweater over his head. “Here,” he held it out, “put this on.”

  “I can’t,” I said, stepping back.

  “No one has to know.”

  “Angelica knows. She’s the one who tripped me.” I covered my mouth again. Why did I blurt things out when I was around him?

  “Angelica?” His eyes narrowed and his jaw worked from side to side. “She’s a bitch, yeah, but I didn’t know...” he sighed. “Oh man, I’m super sorry. She’s such a terrible person.”

  “And her posse.”

  “Yeah.” He still held out the sweater awkwardly.

  I snatched it from him and pulled it over my head. At least it matched my skirt, sort of. It was baggy and fell almost to my knees.

  And it smelled like him. A soft mixture o
f aftershave and some kind of spicy cologne. It’s amazing how much a smell can remind you of all the happy times in your life. I had to fight the urge not to close my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  “I’m sorry about Angelica,” he repeated. “Sometimes I wish we could kill the popular kids with Draino.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a Heathers reference...”

  “What’s that?”

  He gaped at me. “An excellent Broadway stage performance, and also a fantastic nineties movie starring Christian Slater and Wynona Ryder.” He smirked, but it wasn’t mean – the exact opposite. “You’ve never seen it, I take it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, someday we’ll have to change that.”

  Before I could say anything, the door behind him opened and Mr. Jackson came in. He looked between us. “Taylor? Ethan? Everything okay here?”

  “Yup,” Ethan told him, smiling brilliantly. “Taylor was just asking me what song she should perform for the lead role in The Hat.”

  “Excuse me?” I protested with barely a squeak.

  “I told her ‘Part of your World’ would be a great idea, especially since she’s staring in The Little Mermaid next week.”

  Mr. Jackson’s face lit up. “My wife bought tickets last week. It’s supposed to be a great performance. Ms. Tiffany’s dance studio, correct?” He looked at me.

  I nodded.

  “Well, we hope to see you at tryouts today. Hopefully, we will have more students today.” He eyed Ethan, then turned back to me, just as the doors behind me opened and students began to trickle in. Mr. Jackson went over to the shelf to fetch our music for the day.

  “I can’t try out like this,” I whispered to Ethan.

  He turned to face me. “Why not? You know the song, don’t you?”

  It’s only my favorite Disney movie ever, I thought, but how did he know? “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, you’re doing this, Taylor.”

  “I hate you.”

  The room was almost filled, and class was about to start. Ethan took his music and stood next to me in our places. “No, after what you just did, I don’t think you do.”

  I knew he was referring to the kiss, but there was no time to talk about it now. I flushed as I realized I didn’t want to talk about it.

  But goodness, did I want to do it again. That was, if he had no objections. At least now I knew what the girls always talked about.

  Chapter 7

  Ethan

  We didn’t talk about the kiss. It was awkward we weren’t bringing it up, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one who wanted to talk about it. She kissed me, after all. And why? Taylor was a shy little church mouse. Had someone dared her to? After she’d been tripped in the cafeteria?

  So we played this little game for the next few days. She didn’t show up to audition, so despite all my protests, Jackson demanded we cast Angelica for Lilla’s part. After knowing what Angelica did to Taylor, I couldn’t deal with it. When Jackson informed her and I had to watch her smile, my stomach turned. I had got up from the table and stomped out of auditions, to my car, and drove home. It wasn’t my day to pick up Amy, so I locked myself in my room all night. My mother tried to get me to eat dinner, but by that time I wasn’t hungry.

  The next day, I saw Taylor in choir, but she was late, and we didn’t have time to talk. Jackson had to talk to me about casting, so she slipped out of the room before I could catch her.

  And then the same thing happened on Thursday and Friday.

  Saturdays I slept in and usually would hang out with friends; however, that hadn’t been happening lately, so the only thing I had to keep me occupied was studying. To make up for my fast food run on Monday, I made my family dinner: stuffed manicotti shells and garlic bread, which my sister ate two helpings of. My mother ate with us, briefly, and then took my father a plate in his office.

  Just another good ol’ dysfunctional family dinner.

  I trudged to my room after that buried my head in a book.

  My phone buzzed a little after eight that night, as I was studying for a math test on Monday.

  I’m sorry I missed the audition.

  It’s okay, I lied. It wasn’t fucking okay. She was my Lilla, and she bailed on me. I tried to drag some anger up inside me, but all I felt was disappointment. I really wanted to see you, I typed, then deleted, then started to retype. I deleted it again and waited.

  My papa decided to drag me to some church dinner for the homeless and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Any irritation I had for her flooded out of my system so fast, with relief to replace it. I stood from my desk where I’d been hunched for the last hour and paced my room, my thumbs hovering over my phone. That’s understandable. I wanted to say something witty. I could hear her laugh in my head, and I wanted her to giggle on the other side of that phone. Instead I said something so lame even I groaned at it. So, how are your knees?

  Fine...

  I stared at my phone. We’d reached an impasse in our conversation, and I couldn’t let it die. I just couldn’t. My fingers itched to ask her why she kissed me, but I wouldn’t do it. Nope. I’d let her bring that up. I glanced around my room, looking for things to say, anything to keep her talking. I finally landed on the TV in the corner of my room.

  Hey, do you have MovieFlix?

  What’s that?

  It’s this movie service. They have this new thing where you can watch a movie at the same time and make comments. It’s free to sign up, but the movies are pretty terrible.

  Like YouTube?

  It’s not... okay, it’s like YouTube, but only people who have the code can comment. Wanna try it?

  I don’t have a TV.

  I gaped at that. Like ... in your bedroom?

  Like, at all. Papa and my parents said it was just a tool of the devil to show nudity and lust.

  Um. Okay. I didn’t know what else to say. I quickly added, You can do it on your phone.

  Hmm. Why not?

  Yes! I felt like pumping my fist. It was still weird she didn’t have a TV, but I dismissed it. This was something Maeve and I used to do, often, when my mother would get it in her skull that we ‘shouldn’t be alone in my bedroom together.’ Not that she was wrong, but...yeah. Maeve loved campy alien movies; an inspiration for my play, actually.

  But this was Taylor, and it felt wrong to watch something Maeve would have loved, but texting to pick a movie was taking so long.

  Can I call you? I texted.

  Before I got an answer, her number flashed on my screen and I answered. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Her voice was a whisper, and muffled. “Why are you so quiet?”

  “I think Papa went to sleep, because I can hear him snoring, but I’m not sure. Sometimes he has his C-PAP machine on, and I can’t hear him snore at all, but he could be awake...”

  She was rambling and even I could hear the nervousness in her voice. “Shh. Okay. We don’t need to talk long, just pick a movie. Are you on the website?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Let me look at these.”

  Her voice got faint and I knew she was scrolling through her phone for a minute. “How about this one: Lone Wolf. A man transforms into a wolf and only his pastor can save him before the ninjas attack.”

  “Sound dumb,” I told her.

  “Good. We’re watching it.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. I was a little caught up in hearing the sound of her voice like a dumbass. I flipped to the movie on my streaming device – it didn’t even have a poster for it, just a black background with the words, Lone Wolf. 1.5 tickets – meaning it was exceptionally bad.

  Excellent.

  “Are you sure it won’t be too scary?” I hadn’t meant it to sound bad, but her scoff on the other end told me it had.

  “What, you think I’m a little kid? German horror movies are pretty scary. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Look, I h
ave to go,” she declared, “but I see how to make comments so let’s chat on there, right?”

  “Right.” I bit my tongue to avoid saying goodnight, because we weren’t, not really. I’d say goodnight later.

  Turns out, Taylor really knew her bad movies, which was surprising for someone who didn’t watch TV. An hour later, I was sitting on the edge of my bed with my wireless keyboard in my lap, still commenting, and most of the time all she could respond with was a laugh-crying emoji. I knew she was typing and watching on her phone, so she was being a trooper.

  Near the end of the movie, which was over-the-top hilariously bad, there was a man in a gorilla mask with some hair – we guessed it was supposed to be a werewolf costume – shooting a gun, which hit a ninja and the pastor. The werewolf bites the pastor to keep him alive (somehow?) and Taylor’s comment had me laughing out loud: What is this, Twilight?

  You don’t have a TV, but you’ve seen Twilight?

  Of course, it’s on the “approved” list because it was written by a Mormon. So you know, it’s Christian and stuff.

  Oh, okay, I typed, not sure how that even worked, but I laughed anyway.

  A light knock sounded on my door, and before I could ask who was there, Amy opened it and barged into my room. She bounded on top of my bed, her plaid nightgown flying around her, and flounced onto her stomach next to me. “Whacha doing, big bro?”

  I scrambled to hit pause and typed a quick afk into the comments.

  “A movie, huh?” Amy squinted at the TV, which was paused on a particular pan of the dead ninjas, of course being surveyed the terrible werewolf who had killed them all with a ... branch?

  I reached behind her, grabbed the remote off the bed, and clicked the TV off for the time being. “It’s not a kids’ movie. And shouldn’t you be in bed, missy?”

  “Ah, you’re no fun, Ethan.” She rolled off the bed and stood up. “Who were you talking to a while ago?”

  I feigned ignorance. My sister was smart. “Who?”